


Ib Ever After

by LibraryAuthor166



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 08:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraryAuthor166/pseuds/LibraryAuthor166
Summary: "In the early afternoon, under a gray sky, Ib and her parents were on their way to an art gallery..." No one knows of the Art Gallery incident expect for Ib and Garry. Wherever they go, they are reminded of the horrors of the hellish Gallery of Guertena. Things take a turn, however, when Garry uncovers a shocking secret that may reveal more of Guertena and his enshrouded life. With the help of a delightful artist, Nina, Ib and Garry must set things right to prevent anyone else from falling into the deep abyss of the haunted gallery.





	1. Prologue

Ib couldn't remember what she had been doing just a second ago. She felt that it was important, though. Unsure of how to jog her memory, she looked at the painting behind her. It was a wide painting, with thousands of colors splashed across the canvas; it was kind of chaotic. 'It looks like the painting is trying to come out of its own frame...' ??? World. 'I don't know that word.' Ib thought to herself. 'Still, it's familiar to me.' She brushed it off, though, and went to look around the gallery a little bit more.

Traveling down the stairs, Ib saw the elderly man at the desk in the lobby. He looked slightly tired, but then again, sitting behind a desk all day wasn't Ib's version of fun, either. Looking away, Ib went into the other part of the gallery. On the floor was a painting of some sort of sea serpent. The creature seemed to be swimming closer to the surface of some body of water. The thought of the cold water sent shivers down Ib's body and goosebumps to form on her arms and legs. 'Scary.' She then proceeded down the hallway on her right to another part of the museum.

Before the sculpture stood a man viewing the art. He looked like he was in his college, and wore a long, tattered blue coat. His lavender hair reminded Ib of something, but she could not remember what. Ib was almost desperate to remember if she had met him somewhere before; but, no matter how hard she tried, she just could not. 'Maybe his voice will trigger something.' She thought to herself.

After an awkward silence, the tall man noticed the small girl behind him. ".....Hm?" He turned around to look at her properly. "What is it, little lady?" Ib noticed how feminine his voice was; it was kind and gentle, just like a woman's. 'Maybe he planned it that way.'

Ib was hesitant to speak at first. "... What are you looking at?"

The man looked surprised at her question. "Hm? Well, let's see ..." Ib watched as he looked back at the artwork in the corner. "It's a rose sculpture, I guess ..." Ib nodded, tilting her head slightly at she looked at the sculpture herself.

It was a sculpture of a red rose. The flower itself sat upon a thick, thorny green stem, which coiled itself in a circle on its low platform. On the floor around it were large red petals, a little bit smaller than Ib. It was very ... interesting, for lack of better words.

"When I look at this sculpture ..." the man smiled forlornly, as if to himself. "I feel sorrowful somehow... I wonder why?" Ib couldn't help but subconsciously nodding in agreement as she looked at the sculpture. The rose held so much sadness. Maybe it was just the cleverness of the artist, Guertena.

"... Ah, sorry if I said anything to trouble you, Ib ..." the man apologized, a faint bead of sweat rolling down his cheek in embarrassment. He turned to look at the girl behind him as he apologized, his hair tossed to the side before it could become messy. 

Ib looked at the man underneath knit brows. She did not remember ever meeting this man. He did not resemble a teacher at her school, or someone she would have met at a restaurant or a café. And he could not have worked at the library. How was it that this man knew her name and she had no clue what his name was? 'Should I know his name?'

The lavender-haired man became flustered, his eyes widening in shock and embarrassment. He had not realized he had called the small girl by a name. " ... Wait, what? Who's Ib?" 'Why did I say Ib?' Ib pointed to herself with her thumb, indicating that she was, in fact, Ib. "What? That's your name? Your name's really Ib?" The little girl nodded, as if to say that he was correct. "That's the strangest thing ... I mean, I don't know you at all ..." '... then why is she so familiar to me somehow?' The man rattled his brain for an answer. '... I don't know ... And how could I? ...' "It just kind of came out ... How odd." Garry felt a little bit embarrassed again.

Still, something about this nine-year-old girl was screaming at him. He just couldn't put his finger on it. "But, actually ..." he inspected her face closely, hoping something would satisfy his need for a memory. "Have we, perhaps, met somewhere before...?" Maybe they had met at the park, or the supermarket, or maybe even at a bus stop. Anywhere seemed believable to him at this point. Ib herself could not think of a place where they could have met. ".....My, look at me, asking you such strange things..." The man looked away awkwardly, wishing he had asked such odd questions to a total stranger. However, he shook it off and gave Ib a smile. "Never mind what I said .....Well, bye." 'I think it would be best if I leave. I don't want to make things even more awkward than it already is.' And with that, he walked off toward the hallway on his left, the way that he came.

He put his hands into his pant-pockets and stopped walking, as if something had caught his attention. "Hm?" Pulling his hand out, his retrieved a white lacey handkerchief. "What's this ... a handkerchief?'' he asked himself. "When did I get this..."

Ib, being a curious girl, walked over to him to see what he was talking about. She saw the handkerchief and grabbed onto the corner closest to her. Garry took notice of this and made an assumption.

"Ah... This is yours?"

Ib nodded.

"...My word, it's true. 'Ib' ... Your name's right on it. But why is it in my pocket?" Garry pondered, very perplexed at the moment. His eyes widened at his noticed a particular stain on the white cloth. "Plus, there's blood on it..." 'Is this appropriate to be showing to such a young girl?'

Garry had a sudden flash in his mind of a room drawn in crayon. In the room, mannequin heads, coloring books, and other art activities for children were cluttered across the room's floor. Broken glass was littered at his feet. And his finger ... was bleeding. ".......... I was.......... I was.......... wounded. On the hand.......... and..." Garry looked at Ib. "A girl..........." Another flashback came to him. This time, he saw the girl handing him a handkerchief. It was the same on he had now. And the girl in his vision... "A girl gave me her handkerchief ..." Something inside Garry's head clicked. "Yes ... the handkerchief was given to me as a gift ... A gift.... from Ib." Garry smiled.

A feeling of relief washed over him. "Ib.....! I remember now....." Garry got down to Ib's height, very happy. "We were together back there....." he chuckled. "How could I have forgotten? It was so important...! We stuck together through that bizarre gallery... Chased by strange statues... And Mary too, right?" Garry paused to Ib right in the eye. "Ib......... Do you remember?"

".........." 'Do I remember... do I remember what?' Suddenly, a flood of memories came back to her. All that time trapped in that dark gallery, running from terrifying monsters, and Mary... "I remember." Ib nodded, a weary smile on her face.

It would be impossible for the smile on Garry's face to be any bigger. "Oh, thank goodness!" He was tempted to pick the little girl up and spin her around in a hug. Despite that, he remained calm and let out a tired, nervous laugh. "It's hard to believe even now... But it must have happened, right?" Ib nodded. "Ib... We got back safely! We did it!" Garry saw that Ib, who was usually calm and didn't show very strong emotions, looked ready to burst with excitement. "...Ahaha..."

"Sh!"

Garry turned his head to realize that the fellow viewers of the gallery had been staring at him during his ecstatic speech. Two older women looked at them scoldingly, shaking their head with sour frowns. Garry smiled nervously and gave them an apologetic look.

Garry looked at his watch before turning back to Ib. ".....There's so much more I want to talk about, but I've got to get going. And, uh, Ib..." Garry looked down at the handkerchief he was still holding. "is it alright if I keep this handkerchief a bit longer?" Ib gave him a questioning look. "it wouldn't do to return it as it is... I'll have to... make it clean, and then give it back." Ib still looked confused.

"Because... we will see each other again."


	2. Chapter 1

About a month had passed since the incident at the art museum. No one knew about it except for Ib and Garry. They were quite alright with keeping it a secret, however; would your friends believe you if you told them you had been trapped in a demented art gallery? Probably not. Still, they both were able to recover quickly from such an experience. They went on with their regular lives as if nothing had happened, with one slight change: Ib and Garry would sometimes visit each other.

Explaining to Ib's parents how she had met Garry was not very easy. They knew the importance of the term "stranger danger" to one who has a nine-year-old daughter. Ib told them a story where she had been focusing on a painting for too long and nearly got trampled by a tourist group. Luckily, Garry had been there and pulled her out of harm's way in the nick of time. Afterward, the two of them walked around the gallery for a while, until Garry had to go home to study for an exam for college. Ib's mom was convinced that Garry was safe when she heard his soft, gentle voice; Ib's father was convinced when Garry mentioned that he went to college. Ib's parents grew fond of Garry and were impressed by his good influence on their daughter.

Ib called out to her mom and asked if she could to the park with Garry.

Ib's mother, who was busy preparing lunch, responded, "Ask your dad, Ib."

Ib nodded quickly, and then went to her Dad's study. She tapped gently on the door, asking if she could go the park with Garry.

"Ib, I'm sorry, honey. I'm a little busy right now. Ask your mom."

Ib told her father that her mother had just said something similar.

There was a short pause before he responded. "Yes. Are you guys going to have lunch?"

Ib opened the door slightly and poked her head through, and said that she didn't know.

Ib's father looked up from his work at his daughter. "Well, then bring a lunch in your bag, just in case."

Ib nodded and went back downstairs to the kitchen. She grabbed a few things from the refrigerator and made a chicken sandwich. Her mother asked if her father had given her permission to go. Ib nodded in reply. Her mother handed her a mandarin orange to go with her chicken sandwich. Ib nodded in thanks and grabbed the food and put it in the pocket of her bag. And with that, she took the short walk to the city public park.

Once there, Ib looked for a quiet place to sit along the pathway. She chose a bench near the entrance gate. There were other benches like it along the pathway, but this was the only one that was underneath the shade of a tree. And so, Ib sat there, waiting for her friend to appear.

The park wasn't anything grand or important about this park to the city, as far as Ib knew; but it was part of where she grew up. This was part of her life. Her parents took her here all the time as a small child, looking around at the gorgeous scene around them, relaxing with a walk in the tranquil gardens. Little Ib would just be in awe of the delicate flower petals that fell from the trees and onto the still ponds.

"Ah, Ib," a gentle voice called out. "There you are."

Ib looked and saw Garry walking through the front gates. His smile was as warm as ever, like sunshine pouring through a window. Ib smiled back at him and stood up to greet him. She hugged him, becoming hidden in his dark blue coat. He chuckled and returned the hug. They let go, and walked through the park, talking about whatever came up.

"Do you know why I love this park, Ib?" Garry asked. "It's such a beautiful place. Look at all the flora. Oh? Flora is a fancy word for plants. When you hear the phrase "flora and fauna" it means all the plants and animals, or in other words, nature."

Ib nodded in understanding.

"But yes, everything is beautiful and calm here. The plants the water, the buildings, everything! I can't see anything that looks or acts corrupt or evil. It's so different from the art gallery."

He paused and looked down at Ib, concern. "I am sorry, Ib. I didn't mean to stir any frightening memories for you." He then looked at the ground glumly. "No one should have had to live through that."

Ib tugged on Garry's sleeve and smiled empathetically, a sign that she was alright. Garry smiled weakly and shook off the feeling of unease. He often had to remind himself that Ib was a lot stronger than she looked; rather, it was him that got scared easily, and not her. As much as he wanted to be a good, strong brother figure to Ib, he was still working on it.

As they continued walking, they passed a rose garden, which spread down for a few feet. There were red ones, pink, white ones, and even orange roses; no yellow roses, though. They turned and took the cobblestone path through the garden. Ib resisted the temptation to pick one of the pretty roses, and remained content with admiring them. Garry scanned the top of the bushes, subconsciously searching for any blue roses. He found none, only neverending patches of red and white. He felt a mixture of relief and sadness, though he wasn't sure of the cause of either. Best not to focus on why and relax. Stop thinking about the Gallery.

Garry paused as Ib stopped walking. "What is it, Ib?" he asked, "Is everything alright?"

Ib was looking over to the edge of the garden, a few feet away. Garry peered over the horizon of rose and saw... a canvas on an easel. Someone was painting the flowers. Ib walked down the rest of the path and walked down the paved way to get a better look of the work on the easel, Garry in pursuit. As Ib turned the corner, she was able to see the easel. She walked towards the painting and looked at it.

"Do you like it?"

Ib nodded. The canvas held a blue rose, surrounded by white and yellow petals... The rose stood out from the other flowers, larger than the others. It was so detailed and looked too real; Ib wanted to reach into the painting and hold the flower in her palm. Ib looked at the roses in the bush and understood where the artist's inspiration came from: a single blue rose in the middle of white roses.

"What the...?" Garry breathed, confused. "There's a single blue rose? How? I thought the didn't exist."

"Neither did I. But scientists have genetically modified roses to have blue pigments." The artist formed another tiny stroke on the blue flower. "Somehow, there is one right here."

Garry suddenly realized that he had been talking to someone else, not Ib. He shifted his gaze from the art to the artist. It was a young woman, a student at the university, perhaps. She wore a white smock, littered with a few specks and blots of paint. Her piercing green eyes shone from underneath her auburn bangs as she focused on her work. Her firm hand guided the brush as it left its marks on the canvas. Her posture was straight, as she sat close to the easel. She was a master of her skill, of no doubt.

"I don't even know how a blue rose is here, seeing how rare they are." She continued. "I just saw it and dropped everything because... roses make me feel sentimental. Especially blue and white ones. I don't know why."

Ib suddenly felt pity for her. She knew nothing about this person, yet she could see an entire story in the way the artist painted, and in the painting itself.

The artist blinked and tore her eyes from the roses. "My, I'm sorry." She smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to trouble you." She stood up from her stool and cleaned off her brush. "Poor strangers, listening to me blab as I paint." She stiffly put her canvas in its protective case and untied her smock. "Well, my work is done. I will take my leave. Thank you for taking an interesting in my art."

And so she left.

Ib waved and the artist waved back before turning around and going down the path.

Garry sighed. "Shall we go get some macarons, Ib?" Ib nodded and took his hand as they left the park.

...

"Well, that girl at the park was interesting, wasn't she?"

Ib nodded.

The two friends reached the quaint cafe and quickly examined it as they entered. Each table had a single rose in a slim bud vase at the center of the table. The cafe was bordered by pearl-colored gates, which was decorated with little garden boxes of pansies, violets and marigolds. The street was empty, save for the occasional biker or stroller. The day was still warm and the sky was still a bright blue. It was like a scene taken right out of Paris.

"Have you ever been here, Ib?"

"No." Ib shook her head.

Garry looked at the girl in surprise. "My, well, this is an important occasion. This is probably the best cafe in this part of the city." He led her in, ordered some macarons and drinks, and then they were brought to a table.

Ib and Garry continued talking as they waited. Ib spoke softly about her life at school and Garry told Ib about some of his stories about college life and his over the top professors. They both laughed and were happy in each other's company.

Then, something caught Ib's attention. She tilted her head ever so slightly as her eyes focused on something on the wall behind Garry.

"Hm? Ib?" Garry gave his friend a puzzled look. "Ib? What are you looking at?" Still puzzled, he turned his head and found what Ib was watching.

On the wall was a framed painting of some macarons. Each cookie was set on its own plate; and, on each plate, a rose matching the intricately painted macaron in color. The painting itself was so detailed and realistic, it could have been mistaken for a photograph. It was no wonder they were both so entranced by this piece of art. Garry had to force himself to snap out of the trance he had found himself in.

A waitress cleared her throat, grabbing the attention of her two customers, who both flinched at the sudden noise. They smiled sheepishly as their macarons and drinks were placed in front of them. She gave them a tired smile as Garry gave her his thanks.

"Anything else I can get you?" she asked.

"Thank you, we're good." Garry responded.

The waitress nodded and turned to leave.

"Excuse me?"

The waitress paused.

"I'm sorry to trouble you, but, would you tell me who painted this picture?" Garry referenced the canvas behind him. "I don't recognize the signature in the corner."

"Yes, I can." The waitress turned to face Garry as she gave her answer. She moved her gaze to a table closer to the window. "This one, along with pretty much painting in here, was made by that woman over there." She then walked away as Ib and Garry looked over towards the window.

It was the same woman they had seen at the park. She was sitting by herself at a small table, exactly like the one Ib and Garry were sitting at. She was hunched over an open book, which she was scribbling in. A white tea cup and saucer, its content probably gone, were to the left of her book. Garry had no definite way of knowing; but, judging by her occasional glances at the flower decoration on the table, one could assume that she was drawing the rose in its delicate vase.

Garry must have been staring, because, eventually, she looked up at him, her green eyes widening as her cheeks flushed in embarrassment or shyness. Flustered himself, Garry pulled his head and found a sudden interest in his tea cup. Hands fidgeting, he picked the cup and took a large gulp: a mistake that he had realized too late. The tea was nearly scalding his tongue and, quite possibly, his throat as he drank it. It took all of his willpower not to jump up and screaming, but, rather, he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. Blowing on his singed tongue, he heard two faint laughs. One was Ib's giggle; the other, the artist at the window. The artist only stopped when she felt eyes staring at her, and hastily darted back to her sketchbook and continued to draw.

"What an odd person." Garry sighed, hurt by the previous incident. Still, Ib could see the faint smile on his face.


End file.
